


Touch Me

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elders of District Nine are all, as a rule, unimpressive alphas or betas, except for Elders Cunningham and Price. They are  poor, unfortunate, unmanifested souls; people without a secondary gender. At least, they <i>were</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, well... I'm setting a bad example for UCM. 
> 
> But I've been meaning to write this for a while, so whatever.  
> Have some McPriceley smut, everybody (apparently I can write really well at 5 in the morning; who knew?) 
> 
> Inspired by diiiickmatized (on tumblr) and the songs "Touch Me" and "Word of Your Body (reprise)" from _Spring Awakening._

It starts small, just a prickling feeling running up Kevin’s spine at around three in the afternoon. It’s a hot day, of course, so he chalks it up to sweat and tries to ignore it as he goes about his duties.

“Geez, it’s really a scorcher out today, isn’t it?” he comments to Arnold a couple hours later, wiping his forehead with the back of his head. He’s practically dripping with sweat.

“You think?” Arnold says. “I kinda thought it was chillier than usual. I mean, it’s, uh, it’s gonna storm soon, so that always brings the heat down.”

Kevin glances up at the sky; there are ominously dark clouds rolling in, and the wind has started to pick up. When he looks back at his companion, he sees him clutching at his own arms like the gusty breeze is actually cold. Maybe they’re just feeling the temperature differently, but Kevin can barely feel the chill at all. It’s more like it’s the only thing keeping him from catching fire; he’s burning up.

...he may have a fever, now that he thinks about it.

“Hey, Arnold? I’m not feeling well, so I think we should head back to the mission house.”

“What?” Arnold asks, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Kevin says, “I’m just… I think I might need to lay down.”

Eyes narrowing, Arnold stands on his tip-toes to look Kevin in the eyes. “You look red,” he says, after a second. “Are you sick?”

“Maybe. Just, Arnold, can we go?” The close scrutiny made him blush, but now that prickling, burning feeling isn’t going away, and on top of that, he’s getting a little light-headed.

_This sure is moving fast. God, I hope it’s not the flu._

“Sure, buddy,” Arnold says, and after one more awkward glance-over the two of them start heading back. _It’s only a ten minute walk,_ Kevin tells himself. _You can get some water and lay down in ten minutes_.

But five minutes in, he has to stop. He’s breathing hard, sweat coating his skin unpleasantly, and Arnold’s really starting to look worried.

“Do I look that bad?” he asks, blinking hard to clear his vision. God, he can’t even _see._ What kind of fever is this?

“Yeah,” Arnold replies promptly, and Kevin huffs.

“Great,” he says, loosening his tie. “Let’s just get back, okay?”

It’s almost twenty minutes later when they finally reach the house, Kevin leaning heavily on Arnold’s shoulders. He can’t think, he can’t see, he can’t feel anything but heat rushing through his veins; he’s not even sure if he’s breathing. There’s a tangle of voices around him, but he can’t decipher any one of them from the mess. He’s so weak… he needs to lay down, or else… Someone’s arms grasp him as his knees give out, and he offers a breathless ‘thank you’ in return. Just as long as he gets somewhere safe to ride out this… this fever, he doesn’t even care who it is.

*****

“Elder Cunningham, what’s wrong with him?” McKinley snaps, supporting Elder Price’s limp body.

“I don’t know!” Arnold squeaks, watching his friend with horror. “He said he wasn’t feeling good, so we started to head back, and then he couldn’t keep walking on his own.”

“All right, thank you,” Elder McKinley replies, immediately focusing on the man in his arms. “He’s burning up,” he mutters, pressing the back of his hand to Elder Price’s forehead. “And you said it hit quickly?”

Arnold bobs his head frantically.

For a moment there’s an expression on Elder McKinley’s face, his lips pinched and his eyes narrowed, and Arnold can tell he’s getting frustrated and maybe a little bit desperate, when suddenly he gasps, and his entire body changes. Instead of just supporting Kevin, he’s hugging him; half blushing, half pale, he looks… scared.

“Elder McKinley?” Arnold ventures, folding his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Elder McKinley replies, his arms snug around Kevin’s shoulders, “I do believe Elder Price is manifesting.”

_Manifesting? But he’s not… he can’t, we were supposed to have missed the deadline. He’s manifesting here?_ Now _? And… and he’s sick, which means he… Gosh, is he…?_

There’s only one secondary gender that manifests like _this._

“Uh, I’ll help you get him to our room, Elder McKinley,” Arnold says hurriedly. There’s no way he’s going to trust the other elders around his best friend while he’s in heat.

“Thank you, Elder,” McKinley replies. “If you could take his legs?”

Together, they hoist him up off the floor and towards the bedrooms as the first drops of rain outside begin to fall.

*****

The other elders stay in the living room, faces flushed and hearts racing. They know what’s happening; Elder Price’s pheromones are affecting all of them in less than pleasant ways. At the same time, though… it’s hard to think of Elder Price as an omega, of him being in _heat_. With his cocky attitude, well, they had all assumed…

Elder McKinley sticks his head in the door soon after Elder Cunningham returns, toting a bowl of water dripping with condensation and a handful of rags from the kitchen.

“Elders,” he says; he’s visibly flustered as well. “Perhaps it would be best for you to go outside and, um, clear your heads.”

The boys send each other dubious glances, and a timely clap of thunder has them shaking their heads almost in unison.

“All right,” he says, “but you have to keep-”

A long, low moan comes from the direction of the hallway. Elder McKinley flushes scarlet, and the District Nine elders make a beeline to the door.

*****

God, he’s on fire. Isn’t there a breeze somewhere? He can hardly breathe.

Kevin gasps, and the scratch of his shirt against his skin makes him groan. Should he push up into it, or try to get away? He wants to do both, but he can’t, neither helps, and he… he _needs_.

The door opens, and he turns his head, trying his hardest to focus on who’s just come in. A blur of black and white; one of the elders, for sure. But who…? He squints. Auburn hair. He sighs in relief, going boneless against his uncomfortable mattress.

“Elder McKinley,” he whispers, and the man sits on the side of the bed.

“Yes, Elder Price,” the man replies soothingly, and suddenly there’s something blessedly cool pressing across his forehead.

He gasps, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome, Elder,” McKinley replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot,” he replies. That’s the only thing he’s sure of, right now, with his mind clouded and his vision fuzzy. He’s pulsing with heat, from the tips of his fingers, to his head, and down to his…

Wait a second.

Kevin’s eyes fly open, and with all the strength left in his body, he forces himself up onto his elbows. “Am I…” he starts, “Elder McKinley, this isn’t a fever.”

Elder McKinley sighs. “No,” he replies, “it’s not.”

Kevin falls back against the mattress. The soothing cold against his forehead is quickly disappearing, and with it his clarity of thought, but, if he’s not sick, there’s only one thing this could be: he’s in heat. He’s an omega.

The corners of his lips tick up. Well. So much for not manifesting.

But, god, how could he have not noticed? Fevers aren’t consistently, blazingly hot like this. Fevers don’t make people throb with need. Fevers aren’t arousing, and, if he focuses, he can definitely tell that he’s aroused. He got so distracted with trying to figure out how sick he was going to be that the idea of anything else just didn’t really occur to him.

His thoughts are so elusive, slipping out of his grip like water through his fingers, and even as he tries to focus, the heat throbs, making his pulse race behind his ears and burning his rationality away. God… god, he… Without thinking, his hands starts to slip down towards his waistband. Maybe, maybe that’s what he-

Elder McKinley’s gasp stops him at the buckle of his belt, and he clenches his hands into fists. Is that what heat’s going to do to him, take away his sense of shame? _Of course it will,_ he answers himself.

That’s the very purpose of heat, to take an omega out of their minds until there’s nothing left but a pliable, overheated body, desperate and pleading for someone, anyone to take them. Kevin fights to cling to the last remaining traces of himself, his morals and his principles, and asks “What can I do?”

If anyone, Elder McKinley will know if there’s a way for him to hold himself together.

The cloth on his forehead is exchanged, and he hisses at the temperature. It’s not possible, but it feels like the water it’s soaked with has somehow gotten colder. Or, more likely, he’s gotten hotter.

“Is there anything?” he asks, unclenching his fists only to grab at the sheets beneath him. “Can I… do I have to…?”

“Elder Price, I’m sorry, you’re mumbling. I… I assume what you’re asking is what are you going to have to do about it?”

Weakly, Kevin nods.

“I can tell you first off that this is the worst heat you’ll likely ever have, and it definitely hit faster than any you’ll have in the future. At least you have that to look forward to. Unfortunately, your… your hormone levels are probably extremely high due to how long it took for you to manifest; as far as I know, the longer genders take to manifest, the worse the symptoms are.”

Kevin groans, half in irritation at himself but also half in how constraining and tight his clothes seem to be, choking him and concentrating the unbearable heat against his skin.

“Can I…?” he asks, and, against his will, his hands start to futilely tug at the buttons of his shirt.

“Oh. Yes, just let me…” Then Elder McKinley’s nimble fingers are making short work of his uniform shirt, and he sigh-gasps in relief, the sound catching in his throat. His garment is still on, and at this point any fabric against his body is too much, but it’s still such a relief.

“Elder Price, do you… is there any chance you could sit up?”

Kevin weakly turns his head to face McKinley. That effort alone takes the strength out of him, and he has to whisper “No,” in response. He has just enough dignity left to feel pathetic when Elder McKinley sighs, but not enough to not cry out when the man’s hand brush across his arms, his chest, his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding less apologetic and more determined, “but you’re going to kill yourself if you stay in your clothes.”

“Wh- what are you…?”

Elder McKinley leans over him, smiling, and he’s close enough to Kevin that Kevin can actually see it. “I’m just going to-”

There’s a soft grunt of sound, and then suddenly Kevin is lifted up, slumping over into Elder McKinley’s arms. He tries to sit up fully, but Elder McKinley’s hands sweep around to his lower back and tug at the hem of his temple garment, and he goes stiff.

“I’m just going to help you get this off,” McKinley soothes, pausing for a moment. “Is that all right?”

“Yes,” Kevin gasps, clutching at the man’s shoulders with all he has. “Yes, please, it’s…”

Elder McKinley doesn’t need him to say what it is, luckily, starting to pull the soft fabric up and over his head, and Kevin thanks Heavenly Father for that, because the little brushes of skin on skin are stealing his breath away. They lull the heat pushing up against his skin, but only for a moment; the second they’re gone, the fire returns twice as hot.

Maybe he makes a sound, he really doesn’t know, but McKinley whispers something in his ear, and one of those hands is pressed flat against the skin of his back, and he arches towards it.

“Elder Price, it’s all right, it’s… please, just…” Kevin doesn’t understand. Is he doing something wrong? He can’t really control anything right now; isn’t that how heats work? Shouldn’t Elder McKinley understand that?

“I… I’m sorry,” he says. His lips are slow, and they fumble as he speaks.

“Oh, no, Elder Price, it’s… it’s fine.” Kevin can feel Elder McKinley’s tension. He’s hyper aware of it, of every moment, every breath, the reverberation of the words through his chest. They’re hugging, he realizes then, his own bare chest pressed up against McKinley’s cotton covered one. The blunt-edged plastic of the name tag presses against his shoulder; he wraps his arms around Elder McKinley.

“Elder Price, I’m sorry, you can’t… you don’t know what you’re doing.” And, with those hands, Kevin finds himself pushed back onto the mattress. He hardly even minds; the touch feels like everything he never knew he wanted, but then it’s going away, and he feebly reaches up to try and bring it back.

He doesn’t care anymore; he doesn’t care about how he looks, or the repercussions lurking in the corners of his mind, muted by the all-encompassing heat.

“Please,” he whines, blindly reaching towards Elder McKinley. “Please, I-”

“Elder Price.” It’s said in a warning tone, but then a hand grips his wrist, and the touch, as small as it is, pulls a broken sigh from him.

“Please.”

The silence that follows has a weight of its own, throbbing, pulsing with two heartbeats, and two sets of breaths. Kevin feels like he can’t get enough air, and he’s gasping weakly, stretched out on the bed, but Elder McKinley’s breathing is slow, steady, even. Forcedly so, but… he finds himself matching it.

A sweep of a thumb across his wrist. He opens his eyes; his vision has cleared a little, enough to see the indecision on McKinley’s face.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he questions, voice hushed.

“I don’t- I…” Words don’t come easily to his muddled mind. “I don’t know. You don’t have to… I just… please, t- touch me.”

A breath catches in someone’s throat. Kevin doesn’t know if its Elder McKinley’s, or his own, for being so… _wanton_ , but with it, something changes. That gentle brush of a thumb against his skin shifts from soothing to stimulating, from cooling to igniting something darker, and somehow even hotter, in the pit of his stomach.

Kevin’s lips part; his free hand slips down towards his waist. Elder McKinley doesn’t move. The buckle clinks softly as his belt is loosened. Something has given surety to his fingers again. The button is harder, but he doesn’t stop until it slips free of its fastening. Then, the zipper. The tips of his fingers are slick with sweat; he slips once, twice, three- Elder McKinley’s other hand takes his.

Both of Kevin’s hands are captive, now; it’s like a release, in and of itself.

“Would you like me to…?”

He’s nodding before the words are fully spoken. “Please.” It’s breathy, light, and turns to a gasp as McKinley’s delicate fingers brush against him. The zipper is pulled down, and he arches up, hoping for some sort of- _there_.

Elder McKinley jerks his hand away, and now the two of them are only connected at the wrist, his arm hovering above the bedside, but for one blessed moment, everything was _right_.

“Yes,” Kevin whispers. “That- please.”

The touch is hesitant, when it comes, but it does come, and it’s heavenly.

“Yes,” Kevin repeats, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Yes.”

It grows firmer slowly, steadily, until the fire burning underneath his skin is entirely concentrated there, and there alone. Kevin realizes he’s making little sounds, gasps and moans and bitten-off cries, but he’s too far gone to think that they’re bad. If this is how heats take him apart… why was he ever scared?

The touch stops.

He whimpers, and Elder McKinley’s hand tightens around his wrist.

“It’s only for a minute,” he says. “I’m going to let go.”

“No,” Kevin says, struggling to open his eyes, to make them focus, to look Elder McKinley in the eye. “Don’t, please-”

He does anyway, and Kevin almost sobs. The heat floods back through him, overwhelming and bewildering, and he can’t, he _can’t_ -

Elder McKinley’s hands brush lightly across the bare skin of his waist; Kevin lets out a filthy, broken moan. In the matter of a second, his pants are being tugged down, pulled off, tossed in a corner, and one of those hands comes to rest on his hip.

“On or off?” Kevin hears.

His mind is broken; he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer.

The thumb that until recently was caressing his wrist makes the same motion above his temple garments. “On?”

“N- _oh_. Off, p-please.”

Elder McKinley’s thumbs hook between his temple garments and his skin; he cries out as they sweep down his thighs, leaving a blazing, fiery streak in their wake. Finally, the fabric tangling around his ankles, he thinks he might be able to stand the throbbing, pulsing heat in his blood.

“Thank you,” he offers, unashamed at his own desperation. He’s helpless, bare and out of his own mind, consumed with heat and in _need_. But the least he owes Elder McKinley is his thanks.

There is a smile in McKinley’s voice when he replies “You’re welcome, Elder Price.” Kevin shakes his head.

“Kevin,” he says, shaky with repressed desire. He needs those hands back on him; he’s exposed in every way, with not a single barrier left, not even in his name, but it’s not enough. It needs to be enough. He needs that touch. He needs-

“Connor,” Elder McKinley replies. “Call me Connor, please.”

“Connor,” Kevin answers desperately, arching up into thin air. “ _Please_.”

“Oh.”

_Yes_ , there it is, a soft palm pressing firmly against where he needs it most; Kevin moans, unrestrained. Connor’s other hand rests against his side tentatively, as if he isn’t being more forward elsewhere.

“Yes,” Kevin says, his own hands clutching at the sweat-soaked sheets beneath him. “Yes, m- more, please.”

Eld- Connor doesn’t say anything in response, but the hand at his side skims up, onto his stomach, down his hips to caress his thigh. It draws a breathy sigh from his lips, and his head is thrown back in bliss. The hand doesn’t stay, though; it slips lower, below the hand at his cock, gently parting his thighs. As soon as Kevin realizes what he’s doing, he tenses. Both hands pause.

“Kevin?”

Kevin nods, biting his lip. It’s just… it’s just a hand. He needs it, he needs- There’s nothing to be scared of.

“Is… is something wrong?”

A deep breath, heavy in his lungs. “No.” He lets the tension be swallowed by the heat, and lets his legs fall against the bed, loose and open. “Please.”

There’s a split second of hesitation from Connor, and in that moment, there’s a bolt of fear, striking deep in his gut, like a bucket of water on the fire. His eyes snap open; Elder McKinley’s hands press down.

Kevin gasps; suddenly, sharply aware of himself, of _Connor_ , of those magical hands and where they are and what they’re doing. It’s not as hazy, but… but it’s still wonderful. Somehow. The fear may have cleared his head, but it didn’t take away the desire at all. It’s almost better this way, even though the heat is swiftly creeping back in to blur all the lines. He knows, and he feels, and the edges of his terrifying memories are being softened with every stroke, every soft press of delicate fingertips against his skin, wet with slick. One of those fingers breaches him, and his body goes taught. The heat has taken over again, though; it’s a tension that makes fireworks explode behind his closed eyelids, a tension that has him relaxing a moment later so that Connor can go further, can do _more_.

“Oh…” he breathes, “please, _that_.”

“That’s all right?”

“ _Yes_.” Kevin had never been able to understand a desire to have someone touch _there_ before, but now, with his natural slick easing the way, the feelings of dread and panic he thought he would have to fight are fading away easily and without any sharp edges, and he… he loves it.

It’s two fingers, now, delving deep and strong into him, while the hand above has circled around his cock, stroking firmly, constantly. He can no longer feel the gusts of wind from the poorly shuttered window, nor the sheets beneath him. Every sensation is swallowed up by the feeling of Connor’s hands on him, pressing, moving, creating something mysteriously amazing where there has only been fear before.

Kevin shares his gratitude in the only way he can, crying out in adoration of that marvelous feeling. Connor’s hands speed up in response.

Kevin tenses again. Something is building within him, growing steady and strong, and he wants… there’s something, something he needs, he has to-

“Connor,” he says, “Connor, it’s…”

The hands don’t stop.

“It’s all right,” Connor says softly; Kevin can hardly hear him. “Come on, Kevin. It’s all right.”

A final push, a final stroke; a final arching up into that miraculous touch, and the world falls apart.

 

Kevin doesn’t know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes, but he finally feels like he can breathe again. He can recognize the bedroom now, and his vision has cleared. He’s still weak, and far too hot to try and pull a blanket over himself, but he feels like his soul is back within his body, and it’s a relief of an entirely different kind.

“Elder McKinley?” he asks, turning his head. There’s no one else in the room.

The shutters clap against each other, and if he had any energy left, he’d jump. It’s storming out, he remembers. He wonders where everybody’s gone.

A sigh, and his eyes close again. Was it all a dream? No, it… he can still feel the aftereffects. He’s warm and tingling all over; dreams can’t do _that_. And aren’t heats supposed to last longer than this?

He hears footsteps; instinctively, he reaches to cover himself. But it’s Connor at the door, smiling faintly.

“I went to get something to help clean you up,” he says, holding up a damp towel. The rags and bowl of water from earlier are nowhere to be seen. “If you… could you move your hands, please?”

Blushing, Kevin does.

“Thank you,” he says, as Connor neatly wipes up the mess he’s made. “I didn’t mean to, to-”

“It’s fine,” Connor interrupts. “Heats are like that.”

“Is it over?” Kevin asks, hopeful despite himself.

Connor stills, and he steps back, eyes averted. “No,” he says, almost like he regrets having to say it.

Kevin nods. _It’s okay_ , he thinks. _It could be worse_. And, really, it could. He doesn’t feel bad now. He just… he’s weak. _Vulnerable_. But it could be worse.

“Will you stay?” he asks.

“I… I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” Connor turns to go.

“Wait.” Kevin struggles to sit up, leaning up against the wall. “Why?”

“Heats make people do things they wouldn’t normally do,” he replies, even and unemotional. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I knew enough,” Kevin snaps, suddenly defensive. There’s nothing to get defensive about; he thought so himself just a few hours ago. But maybe it’s because what Connor is saying feels like a rejection that he’s reacting this way. Kevin isn’t sure, but there’s something about what just happened that brings him a clarity, an awareness he’s never felt before. He offered himself, completely and fully, for the first time, and now…

He doesn’t feel like the same person anymore.

The heat is starting to pull at him again, but for now he’s at ease, and balanced enough to say “I know now.”

“What are you saying, Elder Price?”

Kevin bites his lip. “I want you to stay,” he says, letting whatever words come to him pass his lips, with no censor. “I want-” He wants a lot of little things (maybe he’s more of a stereotypical omega than he thought), but they all connect to the same idea, the same feeling.

“Please,” he says. “I want you.” He’s not above begging, now.

Maybe it’s just the heat, and he’ll regret everything he’s said and done when it’s all over, but maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll want Connor afterwards; maybe it’ll be more about how Connor has seen more of him, literally and metaphorically, than anyone else in the world. Maybe it’ll be about more than what Kevin needs right now. But, for once, Kevin can tell himself to stay in the present, and not worry about the future. For now, he wants Connor’s hands against his skin. He wants Connor’s eyes on him. He wants Connor’s touch.

“Please, Connor.”

A moment of that heavy silence. The shutters slam again. The two heartbeats in the room are pulsing faster than normal.

Kevin isn’t afraid.

“All right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed, or feel free to shoot me a message at greerian.tumblr.com.


End file.
